


'Third time's the charm'...right?

by Succulent_Skittles



Category: Original Work
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Death, Death is a minor character, Healing, Kinda, Necromancy, Old Work, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Animal, at the very end, but she is undead, for the cat, it's a child resurecting a cat without realizing, necromancy is glossed over, she's not mindless or hungry for human flesh, zombie cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Succulent_Skittles/pseuds/Succulent_Skittles
Summary: Please pay attention to the tags! I don't think what's written counts as 'graphic violence' so none of the warnings fit.--The story of a cat, her past owners, and the journey to Death-and to his daughter.





	'Third time's the charm'...right?

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't read the tags: TW for animal abuse/cruelty, animal death, and Death as a minor character at the very end
> 
> This is and old fic originally on my tumblr, but I hope you like it.

Her first Master confused her.

They had gotten her as a kitten, big enough to fit in their cupped hands or curl up in their shoes-but once she started getting bigger, and her eyes changed from baby-blue to the orange of fallen leaves, they didn’t seem to have time for her anymore.

Oftentimes, they didn’t even have the time to feed her. They never hurt her directly-at least, they didn’t seem to. 

But she always seemed to be in their way, no matter where she was-even under a couch or in the corner, they would shout at her, throwing things to slam against the wall above her or sweeping sticks under her hiding spot to whack into her ribs.

It hurt, living with her Master-so one night, she took a chance and slipped out an open door, wandering the streets in search of someplace that would love her-or at the very least, remember to feed her and not sscare her so much.

–

Her second Master wasn’t mean-honest. 

They were old, and they were used to things being different, and they demanded respect from everyone-even their pets. So when she would knock things over on accident, or she would walk across a freshly-mopped floor, she was ‘rewarded’ by a boot to her stomach, a hand around her throat that let her drop before she died, or-on one occasion-a grip that would slam her into a wall and leave her feeling broken.

It took a long time to grow strong enough to get the cast removed from that-she’d only broken her leg somehow, but it hindered her movements in a way that frightened her. 

So, one night after she had it removed, and she felt strong enough to make the leap, she escaped out a window, tensing when she bumped against the potted plant that rested on the window sill-and jumping down to the ground, running before she could hear if it fell or not.

–

Her third Master was cruel-there was simply no other way to put it.

They would dangle treats and toys before her, but snatch them away at the last second because she was such a ‘bad kitty’-though they never told her what she did. Meals were scarce and often hidden, and she had to fight for her food-an old stray had a habit of finding it first and devouring it, leaving none to soothe her aching stomach. 

She should have known something was wrong when she found a dish of food, fresh and just for her, her Master watching to make sure she was a ‘good girl’, and that she ‘ate every last bite’ of it food. 

But she didn’t, food-and praise-was so hard to come by she let herself just devour the food, not noticing how sleepy it made her until it was too late, until she heard car doors slam and cold ground beneath her, heard the crunch of tire over bone.

She felt pain, and then there was darkness-blessed darkness.

–

Her Fourth Master was the one to bring her back from Death’s side.

Though she hadn’t been there for more then a few minutes,she knew that this Master was gentle, as unlike her other owners as possible.

She was still half asleep when she heard a soft exclamation, and a soft jingle-metal charms on a zipper, meant to protect.   
She heard something rustle, and felt gentle hands-something was off about them but they were so gentle and whoever they belonged to spoke so soothingly now, moving her to lay on a cloth that was tucked snugly-but not tight-around her broken body, before she heard the soft jingle again and was gently picked up, cradled against a tiny chest-a bit colder than her previous Masters, in the rare moments she had gotten close, but oh, that heart beat so strong and it was a lullaby as the child-for she could tell now, by the size of the hands and the soft voice that was closer then before-walked carefully, seeming to pick her way through tiny pathways and deserted alleyways to get home.

Once there, it was…different, to say the least. 

This new Master was indeed a child, and they had somehow patched her broken body. She was wary around them, not drawing close for fear of getting hurt, and the child accepted it. They spoke soothingly when they saw her looking in their direction, and offered her bits of meat with their fingertips-and when she didn’t draw near, afraid the morsel would be snatched away, they laid it in a dish and set it down, and moved away, going to the couch to read or to the next room where their mother baked to see if they could help and perhaps steal a bite from the bowl.

It was three months before she came to her new Master when they cried-though they never cried by their mother, only alone at night on the porch steps, or tucked into the corner of their closet where they would not be heard.  
It took only a few days after that before she came to them when they were stretched out on the couch reading or watching a movie-she couldn’t remember which it had been now-hesitantly jumping up onto the couch to lay against her stomach.

And the child never pushed her away, simply moved to pet her, murmuring softly when they would shift as a warning so she would not be jostled or startled, for this tiny child seemed to understand that the sudden movements and bumps would scare her if they came without warning, would send her scurrying for cover before she got hurt.

Her name is Ash, and her Master is Raine. She is unlike any of her previous Masters, in that she is never cruel and she accepts the little habits she has-how she’ll flee to hide under the closest chair or bed when something bad happens, whether it’s her fault or not, how she will look to her for conformation that something is alright before she does it.

Raine is a very good Master. Ash only wishes she had found her before Death had stroked her back, a smile that was more than just the curve of his skull-the only thing she heard him say before she knew he was her wonderfully kind Master’s Father.

_”You will be a perfect friend for her, Little one. You will keep her safe when I can not.”_


End file.
